


53rd Street

by oftennot



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Drabble Collection, Found Family, Gen, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26622901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oftennot/pseuds/oftennot
Summary: A series of drabbles based on characters from our D&D campaign.
Relationships: Salty Nein
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: Salty Nein Fics





	1. Looking for Housemates

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Salty Nein.

_1429 N 53rd Street_

_2 bedrooms open_

_3 bath_

_2800 sqft_

_Attic and basement access also available_

_If interested please contact Brint Skyback_

_555-867-5309_

Brint pins the flier up on the bulletin board, among ads for guitar lessons, notices about a concert coming up soon at the park, and a wanted poster for a lost goat. He supposes he could’ve put up a listing on the internet, but he was worried what kind of people may respond to that. He figures more normal places like the community center, library, and public gym may attract more common and sensible folks. 

“Looking for housemates?” A voice says from right behind his shoulder and Brint startles. He turns to see the person attached to the voice.

A young woman with dark skin and dark hair tied up in two messy buns atop her head stands there, one hand on her hip while the other is carrying what looks like a violin case. Her head is tilted to the side as she reads his flier. He spies a nametag with the community center’s logo that reads _Birdie Morlas_ pinned to her shirt. 

Brint clears his throat and turns to address the lady properly. “Why, yes, I am. I hope it’s alright to put personal ads on here, Miss Morlas.” 

She immediately smiles. “You can call me Birdie. And you’re more than welcome to post this here! In fact,” she holds her free hand out for him to shake. “I’d like to inquire about one of the rooms.” 

Brint returns Birdie’s smile and shakes her hand with ease. “Let’s have a chat.”

* * *

He’s at a cafe around the block from his house, waiting to meet another potential housemate. This person had texted him with a short and simple message:

_Wynn Fenberos. 24. College student. Interested in your basement._

It was… phrased oddly, but Brint could appreciate a man of few words. He’s glancing at his phone to check the time and see if this Wynn has messaged him when the chair in front of him screeches as it’s pulled out and a tall, 6’2 frame seats itself in it. 

“Hello, you’re Wynn, I presume?” Brint says, not bothering to offer his hand because he can already tell that this guy does not want to shake it. 

Wynn slumps in the chair, one arm perched on the back of it, and nods once. “Yeah. And you’re Brint?” 

“The one and only,” he smirks at him, but Wynn just keeps staring. “Right, so. My basement. You read the email I sent you about the rent and utilities price?” 

“Yeah.”

“The one washer in the house is located down there, so you’d have to deal with the other housemates coming in from time to time.” 

“Yeah, whatever, that’s fine. As long as they don’t try to talk to me.” 

Brint chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sure they’ll leave you alone.”

“Great. So can I have the room or not?”

“It’s yours.” 

“Awesome, I’ll move in tomorrow.” And then Wynn stands up and walks out of the cafe.

Brint sits there for a moment, staring at where his future housemate was sitting a second ago. 

“Just wait until he meets Birdie.”

* * *

The next time he’s approached by someone interested in renting, Brint’s just gotten out of the pool after his daily swim. It’s Azure, the lifeguard, a nice young woman he’s chatted with from time to time since he’s made himself a regular at the pool. 

“I heard that you have some rooms available at your house…” she says, a bit hesitant. One hand is playing with the tip of her braid. 

“You would be correct,” Brint replies, wrapping his towel around his neck. “Are you looking for a place? I would love to have a familiar face, what with all the strangers I’m letting into my house.”

Azure looks down and smiles. “Yes, I am, actually. My previous roommate, a good friend of mine, had to move suddenly, and now I need to find a new place…” She trails off, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. 

Brint puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Miss Azure. I’d be happy to have you.” 

She looks up and smiles at him gratefully. “You said you already found some housemates?”

“That I did. Another young woman named Birdie, and a gentleman called Wynn.”

“Do you like them?” 

“Oh, yes, they’re both very nice people. But, well…” He winces.

Azure raises an eyebrow. “But?”

“Why don’t you come over this evening for dinner and meet them?” Brint suggests, sighing. “I’m making a vegetarian casserole.” 

“I’d love to.” 

* * *

Brint knew that the final room, his attic, would be a hard sell. The staircase leading up there is old and creaky, and while the space has a gorgeous skylight and a high ceiling, it’s a bit old. Over the years he’s used the space as storage, so it was partly filled with musty chests and bookshelves, and he doesn’t even remember what most of the stuff was originally for. 

Jacint Caspari, however, is immediately taken with it.

Well, Brint assumes as much, based on the wide smile on the man’s face and the fact that he exclaims _“Bonza!”_ upon taking a turn about the room.

“It needs to be cleaned up a bit,” Brint admits, noting some cobwebs in the corners and a not insignificant amount of dust on the shelves. 

“She’s a beaut,” Jacint says, coming to a stop in the middle of the floor, looking up at the skylight. It’s evening and the sun has almost set in the sky. Brint watches him appreciate the view for a few seconds, a nostalgic, far-away look on his face. Then all at once his usual smirk is back in place and he’s reaching into his large backpack to retrieve a bundle. He’d been backpacking around the country, Jacint explained earlier, and was looking for a place to settle for a while. 

“D’ya think I could hang up m’hammock from up there on ‘em raftas?” 

Brint walks over to him and looks up at the ceiling. “Probably. Might need a ladder, but I have one in my shed out back.”

“That’d be aces, mate. I could move in right now if you’d ‘av me,” Jacint rubs his nose and smiles, waiting eagerly for Brint’s response. 

He’d taken a liking to the man the second he’d walked in the front door. Jacint was friendly, easy to talk to, and quite the charmer. He’d even mentioned something about bouldering and Brint remembered Azure saying there were job openings at the gym. Brint wasn’t the type to believe in fate, but something about this arrangement felt right.

“Welcome to the house, Jacint.”

* * *

In total, it had only taken Brint a little over two weeks to find occupants for all the rooms at his place. He was pleased with this, very pleased. He’d been prepared to struggle with paying rent for a month or two until he found suitable housemates. That things had sorted themselves out so quickly was a blessing. 

Brint is back at the community center, the last of the spots he’d visited two weeks before, taking down his fliers. He’s in the process of removing the pin from the paper when a voice speaks up from behind him, in an eerie rehash of his meeting Birdie in this very spot. 

“Oh, no, wait!” a voice pleads. Brint turns to see a young woman with fiery red hair in two plaits, wearing scuffed up boots and overalls, with a backpack that looks way too heavy for her small frame slung around one shoulder. Her eyes are wide and pleading, and her cheeks quickly flush red under Brint’s attention.

“Is everything alright?” He asks. 

“I-I was just interested in renting a room,” the woman stutters, not making eye contact, “But if it’s no longer available…” The toe of her boot digs into the floor. 

Brint feels his heart going out to her. She looks very kind and earnest, and now he has to turn her down. He takes a big sigh and begins, “I’m afraid that all the rooms have already been taken, ma’am.” 

Her shoulders droop and she starts to turn away. “I thought so. Sorry for bothering you—”

“Hiya, Mr Brint!” And then Birdie is right there, her sudden appearance causing the other woman to freeze. “What brings you here? Who’s your friend?” She asks, smiling at the woman whose face now matches the color of her hair. 

“I’m not his friend,” she mumbles, to which both Brint and Birdie frown. 

“This young lady was hoping to rent one of the rooms at the house, but I was just telling her that they’re all taken now.” Brint explains, feeling even more sorry the second time around. This causes her to flinch and shrink in on herself, her eyes darting around for an exit. Birdie watches all of this, frown still in place. 

“Well that just won’t do, will it, Mr Brint?” 

He can already feel a smile building on his face. “No, I don’t think it will. What do you have in mind, Miss Birdie?” 

She bends down to meet the other woman’s eyes. “Hi, I’m Birdie! I’m one of Mr Brint’s housemates that just moved in. What’s your name?”

“U-uh, Shell. I’m Shell.” The grip on her backpack strap tightens, her fingers turning white. 

“Nice to meet you, Miss Shell.” Brint nods. She returns it with a small, tentative smile.

Birdie straightens up, a delighted smile on her face. “Shell, how do you feel about bunk beds?” 

Brint watches Shell gasp and something like hope light up in her eyes, and thinks that perhaps there may be something to fate after all. 


	2. Someone has to be bailed out of jail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course it was Wynn.

He’s sitting in a small cell just off to the side of the room. If he bothered to look, he could see the police milling around the office, doing whatever the fuck police do other than be annoying, but he certainly wasn’t looking cause he didn’t give a fuck. Instead, he’s slouched against the wall, head bowed, eyes closed, and he waits.

They arrive quickly. There’s the jangle of keys as one policeman comes forward to unlock the cell door. “Fenberos, your bail has been posted. You’re free to go.”

Wynn doesn’t respond and barely resists shoving past the cop as he exits the cell. He’s led back to the front of the station. He can  _ hear _ them before he sees them. He contemplates asking to be put back in the cell.

“Does it really work like it’s shown on those crime shows?” Jacint’s low rumble of a voice carries down the hall. “D’any of ya have psychic powers--y’know, like y’touch a piece of evidence and can see all the mem’ries of the victim?” 

He rounds the corner and sees his housemates all gathered at the front desk, looking every bit a clown troupe, and not just because of the garish collection of colors Birdie has managed to put together in one outfit yet again. They all look up and see him enter at the same time, their heads moving in sync like a bunch of kittens or something, and Wynn  _ scowls _ .

“Wynn!”

“Wynn, I’m so glad you’re okay!”

“Sorry we took so long.” 

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

“How’s t’other bloke look? Barely walkin’?”

They rush forward and crowd him the second he’s past the gates. He doesn’t bother fighting them off even though he’s itching at the invasion of his personal space. He’s getting a little too used to it at this point and honestly, he’s tired. Whatever, let them fawn over him. Better to get it over with. 

“I’m fine,” he grunts, not meeting any of their eyes. “It was stupid, anyway. I didn’t even do anything wrong.”

Azure raises an eyebrow, Brint shakes his head, Shell looks conflicted, while both Jacint and Birdie nod in understanding. Jesus, how did he end up living with these people.

“The important thing is that you’re out now. We got you.” Brint says and holds up his car keys. “I’m sure you’re mighty hungry. How about we go on over to Milly’s Place? My treat.” 

Birdie’s face lights up and she starts bouncing on her feet. “I heard she has a new milkshake flavor! We’ve got to try it!” 

“Are we all going to fit in your car, Brint?” Shell asks, her lips turned down in a frown. 

“We can make it work,” Jacint says, slinging an arm around her as they walk out. “You can sit on my lap.” 

Shell blushes and shoves him off her. “I’ll sit with Birdie.” She says and Jacint laughs, unperturbed. 

They all make their way out of the station and to the parking lot. It’s nighttime and the ground is wet from a rainshower earlier in the day. Brint’s beat up Jeep is the only vehicle in the lot that isn't a patrol car. They start the painful process of trying to cram too many bodies into a small enclosed space. 

Wynn makes his way straight for the passenger seat because there’s no way in fuck he’s sitting on someone’s lap or having someone on his. No one raises any complaint; in fact, no one even tried to call shot-gun. They let him have it. There’s another argument breaking out in the backseat as Jacint says something about there being enough of him to go around, ladies, no need to fight over his lap. 

This time Wynn doesn’t bother to fight back the smile that finds its way onto his face. He leans his head back on the headrest, closing his eyes. Brint sticks the keys into the ignition and the car rumbles to life. 

“We’re happy to have you back with us, Wynn.”

Wynn doesn’t open his eyes, but he lets his smile widen just a fraction. He knows Brint will see it. 

“Yeah, thanks. I’m… happy to be here or whatever.”

The car pulls out of the lot and onto the street, and they drive off into the night. 


	3. Like Clockwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of Birdie Morlas.

Her alarm goes off at 06:30, like it does every day. She wakes to the sound of birds chirping, a few at first, then more voices join until it becomes a steady cacophony. She rolls over and grabs her phone, clicking the blessed off button. The mattress above her rustles as her roommate turns over and grumbles, already falling back into sleep. Birdie, on the other hand, throws off her covers and hops out of bed. Unlike most of the human population, she has no qualms about getting up early; in fact, she quite enjoys it. 

Her schedule today is like most other days, which is to say busy. A brisk 15 minute shower, quickly toweling off after and throwing her still wet hair up into two messy buns on her head. Rather than meticulously plan her outfit to match and have some semblance of a cohesive style, she pulls out articles of clothing from her drawer at random and hopes for the best. Today the lottery is a tie-dye crop-top, a red corduroy skirt, and a pair of green fishnet tights. 

Perfect.

The one part of her appearance that she does spend time on is her makeup. Birdie sits at the vanity in hers and Shell's room, being careful not to wake her. Shell despises being woken early after a long night of studying. Opening her large bag of cosmetics, her fingers flutter over the colorful array of palettes. Today she's feeling... green! With practiced and nimble fingers she paints a bright and glittery show across her eyelids and cheeks. Birdie winks and blows a kiss to her reflection, pleased with her handiwork. 

By 07:15 she's galloping down the stairs, something that Wynn has yelled at her for a number of times. Her stomping filters all the way down into the basement apparently. Birdie slides into the kitchen, narrowly avoiding a collision with Azure, who was in the middle of enjoying her morning cup of coffee. 

She raises an eyebrow at Birdie and takes a sip. "Running late again?"

"Beauty takes time. Surely you can relate?" She plucks an apple from the basket laid out on the counter and stuffs it into her backpack. 

That gets a chuckles and a shake of the head from Azure. Her housemate reaches for something beside her and holds it out to Birdie. 

It's a thermos. "For me?" She blinks. 

"So you'll stop stealing my coffee," answers Azure, looking off to the side. 

Birdie knows not to look a gift horse in the mouth and readily accepts the drink. She throws a "Thanks, Azure!" over her shoulder and skids down the hallway to the front door, slipping on boots and picking up her violin case, then barrels out into the street like an escaped zoo animal. Brint's Jeep is nowhere to be found in the driveway, either because he already left for work this morning or he had still not returned from his shift the night before. No was sure what exactly he did for work, and any questions were met with vague, noncommittal answers. Birdie's current guess was that he worked for a high profile host club. 

She makes it to the bus stop just as it comes turning around the corner. Once she's in a seat and settled, Birdie retrieves her headphones from her backpack and connects it to her phone. She hums along to the music, bobbing her to the rhythm as the bus takes her further into town. Twenty minutes later and it's arrived at the community center, stopping at the intersection between that and the local library and gym. 

She checks her phone for the time. 07:35. Great, she's late. 

Birdie strolls into the community center and sets her things behind the reception counter, whistling innocently as she boots up the computer, pins on her name tag, straightens out the fliers on display—

"You're late again, Birdie."

She turns and smiles. "Hiya, Lyranna! Great morning, innit?" 

Her boss frowns at her. Sighs. "Try not to make a habit of this, will you? The center would fall to ruin if I had to fire you." 

"Oh, stop, you're makin' me blush." She makes a show of cupping her cheeks in feigned embarrassment. Lyranna rolls her eyes and walks away, presumably to do... whatever it is that the director of the community _and_ library does. 

By 08:00 Birdie flips the sign on the front door to 'Open' and the rest of her work shift passes by in a blur. Lots of directing confused elders to the correct activity room, answering basic and mundane questions on the phone, sending emails about a lost goat, restocking the bathroom with toilet paper. (People really liked their toilet paper.) The best part, in Birdie's opinion, is when she gets to run her own classes. Voice lessons in the morning and a children's beginner violin course in the afternoon. 

And, of course, when her housemates drop by. 

Jacint is first to appear, usually around lunch. "G'day, Peacock," he greets her, smile in place and leaning over the counter like he's trying to read her papers. "Ya lookin' as bright n flashy as usual." 

Birdie holds up the apple she packed this morning without looking away from her work. "Alright, Jay-jay?" 

The apple is taken from her hand. "For me?" Jacint wipes it on his tank then takes a bite. "How'd ya know I was hungry?"

"Just had a feeling," says Birdie. They grin at each other like this doesn't happen every other day. 

Once Jacint finally leaves for his shift at the gym across the street, Birdie shooing him out lest he's late like _she_ perpetually is, it's another hour or two before her daily exchange with Wynn.

She calls it an exchange, because that's really all it is. Every day at 14:07 Wynn walks through the parking lot of the community center. He never stops in, never gives any explanation of where he's going or why, but he passes in front of the door where Birdie can see. She waves excitedly at him, trying to catch his attention. With his hood up, earphones in, hands stuffed into his pockets, Wynn gives no indication of having seen her. That is until his back is to her and he's nearly past the view of the windows—then one hand will come up in a lazy wave that could also be him swatting away a fly, but Birdie considers it a victory. 

When Shell comes bursting through the doors and collapsing onto the counter, her textbooks and notes nearly falling to the floor when it's ten to 17:00, right as Birdie's shift is ending. "I have an exam in 30 minutes," she begins, her eyes wide and frantic. "I meant to wake up hours ago to study but I slept through all 15 of my alarms. I think—I think I'm going to faint." 

"If you do, try to do it at the gym," Birdie advises as she gathers her belongings and steps out from behind the counter. "Azure is better at first aid than I am."

Shell continues on as if she didn't hear her, which she probably didn't. "I don't think I remember the equations. Oh god, what if I forgot the equations?" Birdie simply nods and leads Shell out the door as her nervous rambling continues. She walks with her to the bus stop and waits until it arrives. 

"You'll do brilliant, Shellie," she reassures her as Shell steps backward onto the bus, somehow not injuring herself in the process. "You're the brightest person I know." 

A genuine smile interrupts the anxiety playing out on Shell's face. "Thank you, Birdie. See you tonight?" Birdie salutes Shell through the window and the bus disappears down the road. 

This is the first time in her day that Birdie isn't rushing to do something and has time to kill. It's half past 17:00, the sun is beginning its descent beyond the horizon, and the road she walks is off the main one so cars only sparingly drive past. She plugs in her headphones once more and sings out loud, uncaring if any other pedestrians hear her as she dances her way down the street. 

By 18:00 sharp she's made it to a small cafe/bar/lounge/bad slam poetry joint with a sign in chipping paint that reads _Eclipse_. Birdie waves to Trym who's working the bar tonight. 

"Well look who it is," Trym announces, a hand on her hip. "The song bird herself." 

"Hiya, Trym! Is Acorn around?"

"Not tonight, I'm afraid," she sighs, "Some business out of town, she said." 

Birdie swallows down her disappointment and sits at the bar, ordering a drink. "Next time then."

In the next few minutes more people trickle in, either through the front door or through some kind of secret entrance that Birdie has yet to discover. Eventually the meeting convenes when Galen, the de facto leader in Acorn's stead, steps out in front of the gathered couches and seats. Birdie pays attention, honestly she does, but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't also preoccupied with how fit he was or how she'd like to run her hands through his hair. She even manages to offer ideas for the next protest they're planning, and she _swears_ his eyes linger on her a fraction of a second longer than necessary. 

The meeting finishes and Birdie takes the last sip of her drink, resolving to march on over to Mr Nice Shoulders when she spies the current time on her phone. 

19:06.

_"Bugger,"_ she curses, quickly gathering her bags and dropping some cash on the bar top for Trym. She's turning for the door then sees Galen looking like he was approaching her, and there's a moment where they stare at each other before she gives him an apologetic look and mouths "Next time," then disappears out the door. 

"I haven't even picked up food," Birdie groans to herself, running down the sidewalk. "I'm _rubbish_."

A sudden honk causes her to trip and nearly fall flat on her face. She turns, ready to flip off whatever arsehole thought they were being funny—

She sees the smiling face of Brint leaning out the window of his Jeep. "Need a lift?" 

Brint, being the kind soul that he is, says that the food he bought for tonight is more than enough to cover both their shares. Of course he bought extra. They arrive back at the house with time to spare before dinner is to begin. The smells of roasting veggies and spices greets them as they enter, Azure and Wynn already at work in the kitchen. The addition of two more bodies crowds the space. There's lots of bumping elbows, cabinet doors opened precariously close to heads, arguing over who's turn it is to use the stove, but somehow they make it work. 

By the time Jacint and Shell get home, Wynn has set out all the plates and utensils, and Brint is uncorking the bottle of wine he bought. Like the kitchen, the dining table is a tad too small to comfortably sit six people, but then again, Birdie thinks as her eyes sweep over her housemates for a moment, their weekly dinners weren't about comfort. 

It was about spending time with each other.

She glances at the clock. 20:35. The night was young, and they had another bottle of wine waiting to be opened back in the kitchen. 

"Oi, stop hogging the butter and pass it over here!" 

The food is delicious, and it makes her feel warm and full.


	4. Morning Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My love letter to Azure.

It's early morning. The sky itself is still waking, the first of the sun's rays tentatively peeking over the horizon. Azure watches the blues brighten with the gold of sunrise, sighing into the still piping hot cup of tea held in her grasp. It's quiet, peaceful. There is space for her to think—

"I'm going to be bloody late again!" The sound of stomping descends down the stairs, heralding the arrival of Birdie. 

Azure closes her eyes, sighing again and setting her drink down on the counter. Her daily ritual of welcoming the new day is effectively over now that her housemate has entered the picture. She puts her back to the window and faces Birdie. The other woman bursts in, buzzing around the kitchen like a hummingbird flitting from one flower to the next.

Azure watches her with a quiet, amused smirk while she waits for Birdie to finally take notice of her presence. She picks up the thermos she prepared while she brewed her own tea, holding it at the ready. Right on cue Birdie swivels around to her, glitter-covered eyes widening comically as she spots the proffered drink.

"Is that for me?" She asks, voice tinged with awe.

Azure glances off to the side. Why did Birdie always have to be so dramatic? "Yes," she answers, gesturing with the thermos, "Take it and get going before you miss the bus."

And like a toddler, Birdie's attention is taken off one shiny thing and onto another, thrown back into a frenzy. She accepts the thermos and shouts a quick "Thanks, Azure!" over her shoulder as she bolts out of the house. Azure chuckles lightly, shaking her head. This wasn't the first time she prepared tea for Birdie and it certainly wouldn't be the last. The only reason she had started doing it was because she used to steal _her_ tea in her morning scramble for the bus, and Azure's direct requests for her to stop were continually ignored. It was only natural she just make the drink herself if that's what it takes. She didn't dwell on how she knew Birdie preferred tea over coffee, that her favorite brew has Honey Lemon, and that she added milk but not sugar. 

Azure observes. She notices. She thinks. She wouldn't necessarily describe herself as a quiet person, but certainly she is one of the quieter members of the house. Wynn is also conservative with his words, but when he does speak he makes sure he is heard. Brint can assume the role of an observer, but has less reservations about expressing affection. Shell has her contemplative moments, especially when studying or trying to solve an equation she doesn't yet understand, but she too is expressive in her own way. 

And no one would ever describe Jacint or Birdie as "quiet". 

Some might say her silence means she fades into the background, but Azure has never felt that way. She is present in the moment. She likes to take things in, to fully observe all that is going on around her before speaking up. Words are precious, she knows. They carry weight and can cut as deep as any knife. She does not wield such a weapon lightly, especially if it can be turned against her.

The kitchen is glaringly quiet in the wake of Birdie's departure. The peace from earlier is gone, and the silence that Azure usually appreciates feels heavy, as if some kind of message is being impressed upon her. She bites at her lip absently and her eyes dart over to a letter lying on the counter next to her mug. It arrived this morning along with the rest of the mail, but this particular item was addressed to her. She recognized the handwriting immediately.

It had been a few months since Merrick went to study art history abroad. A few months since Azure's best friend left and she suddenly had to find new living arrangements. Her father would have happily welcomed her back into her childhood home, but there were a multitude of reasons why she did not want to do that. She and Merrick kept in touch, though not regularly. There was the time difference, and the fact that he preferred to send _letters_ rather than use technology from this century and chat over phone or video. Azure would be lying if she said she wasn't miffed by this, but the anticipation and excitement while waiting for his next letter to arrive was more enjoyable than she expected. 

She could open the envelope and read the letter now, but she didn't. She wasn't _ignoring_ it. She was waiting for the right moment... whenever that was. She _tsks_ at herself, arms crossing once again. There was no reason she needed to open it right away, or ever, really. It was a letter. From Merrick. If there were an emergency or something important he would use his cell phone for once and send her a message. She could do the same. It's fine. 

It has nothing to do with him gushing in each of his letters about how much he's loving university and his classes, all the things he's learning, the people he's meeting. He inquires into her life and how she's doing; it's not that he's being thoughtless. It's... Azure sighs, a familiar sadness creeping over her bones. Her forehead comes to rest in her hand and she closes her eyes. He feels so far away. Merrick is off on an exciting adventure, living his life to the fullest, and she... is a lifeguard at a pool. Even her job is to be an observer, to watch over others and protect them. She can't watch over Merrick from here. He wouldn't want her to, anyway.

Azure is saved from her thoughts spiralling to an even darker place by the sound of the back door opening and slamming shut. She stands up straight, startled by the intrusion and feeling foolish for forgetting her surroundings. Wynn has just entered the kitchen, looking half asleep and upset about being awake. He's wearing gym shorts, an old t-shirt, and sneakers, so he's probably about to start his daily workout. 

"Good morning," she greets, knowing he won't be the one to speak first.

"Morning," he replies, not sparring her a glance as he makes his way to the refrigerator and grabs a water bottle. She takes no offense to this, because his eyes are barely open as it is. 

She's content with leaving their conversation—if it could even be called one—at that, but Wynn surprises her by speaking again. 

"What is it." It's not a question.

"Erm, what?" 

Wynn takes a generous gulp of water and then wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. "You're making a face like you're constipated so I figured something was wrong."

Azure feels her cheeks flush with embarrassment and irritation. She opens her mouth to offer a retort but Wynn beats her to it. 

"You don't have to speak to me about it. Actually, don't," he says, and glances at her for the first time. His words are blunt and a bit careless, but his eyes carry none of his usual disdain or indifference. "I barely have my own shit together so I shouldn't be giving out advice."

Her mouth falls closed as she processes this. They're quiet and it's awkward. 

"Thank you for... caring?" She offers. 

Wynn starts walking back to the door. "Don't mention it. Really." He swings it open but pauses before stepping outside. "Brint or Jacint or even Birdie are better for talking to. Just not me." Then the door shuts behind him. 

She smiles, though it's close to a grimace. If _Wynn_ is telling her she looks upset and should speak with someone about it, then _perhaps_ there are a few things bothering her. She looks back at the letter, fingers tapping on her arm. Considers for another moment. Reaches out to grab the letter and just _open_ it—

"G'day, blue!" Jacint appears out of nowhere and Azure yelps, quickly hiding the mail behind her back and spinning around to face him. 

"Morning, Jacint," she says, breathless. 

His hazel eyes—almost golden—search her face, bright grin still in place. He saunters into the kitchen, gym bag slung over his shoulder. "Didn't mean tuh startle ya. Where was your mind off to?"

She waves the hand not holding the letter hostage. "Just zoning out."

Jacint pauses by the counter adjacent to her, leaning his hip against it. He swings his keys around and around his finger lackadaisically. His eyes haven't left her. "Is that all?" 

Azure's lips thin out. _She_ was supposed to be the perceptive one who could read others like a book, not the other way around. She is not comfortable with this role reversal. Understanding people was one thing. Being seen by them was another. 

She contemplates brushing aside his concern, wanting to write it off as meddling, but that wouldn't be fair to Jacint. He is not one to pry. He also keeps his thoughts close to his chest. But she and Jacint had built any easy rapport with each other since moving into the house. She finds his boisterous nature and outlandish stories are fun and easy to listen to. She can relax around him. It's no wonder that she's shared the most with him out of the housemates, other than Brint. 

She sucks in a breath, slowly releasing the tension in the hand gripping Merrick's letter. "I... got a letter from Merrick," she explains, holding the now crushed envelope for him to see. 

It's only then that his gaze leaves her and inspects the paper instead. "Ah," he clicks his tongue. "I understand."

And she believes him. "I know it's not a big deal and I should just open it, but—" She shrugs, at a loss.

"So don't open it," Jacint says.

She blinks at him. "What?"

"Not yet anyway," he continues, walking up to her. He slings an arm over her shoulders and winks at her. "That letter ain't going anywhere, right? Ya got the whole day ahead of ya, and _we_ gotta get to work." 

"I suppose you're right," she agrees, returning his smile. "I'm not... I don't know, avoiding the issue?" 

"Course not!" Jacint starts walking the two of them out of the kitchen and towards the front door. He easily picks up Azure's bag that lay waiting for her and adds it to the shoulder carrying his own. "You're giving yourself time to get ready tuh read it. And when you're ready, you will." 

Azure looks down at their feet, blinking away a sudden dampness in her eyes. "Thank you, Jacint." 

His hand squeezes her shoulder. "Anything for you, cerulean." 

They step out onto the sidewalk. The sky is a bright blue now, the sun fully risen. The tea she drank earlier has her feeling warm and wide awake. Jacint's presence by her side reassures her. She smiles to herself. 

Another day welcomed.


	5. Interim: The Coffee Shop AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Shellie Coffee Shop AU we've been waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Softe.

Shell isn't exactly a creature of habit, but every weekday like clockwork her sleep-deprived self walks through the door of Milly's Coffee, the bell attached ringing to signal a customer's arrival, and waits in line to get her usual order. Her practical side insists that she's wasting too much of her already paltry uni student budget on coffee that she could make at home herself, but she can barely scrape together a meal, much less replicate the richness of Milly's brews.

She can no longer remember when exactly she started frequenting this particular coffee joint, but it's been long enough that she is a recognized regular and the barista has memorized her order. As she steps up to the counter, the barista smiles at her, all bright eyes and round cheeks, and before Shell can even begin to form words, she's saying, "Long black, no sugar, and an extra shot, right?"

Shell feels her cheeks warm and finds it hard to meet her eyes. She focuses on her name tag instead. _Birdie._ "Erm, y-yeah. Yes. Sorry." Oh, gods, why was she apologizing?

"Coming right up!"

Shell preoccupies herself with rummaging through her wallet to pay the bill while Birdie dances around, making the drink. As she waits, Shell starts tapping her fingers on the counter along to music in the shop, then realizes that it's Birdie singing. She lifts her gaze from her feet up to the barista, thinking it safe to do so while her attention is elsewhere. She's dressed in a tie-dye tank top that leaves her shoulders and stomach bare, with denim shorts that are littered in marker drawings, patches, and stitching. None of it matches, but somehow Birdie can pull it off. Shell squints her eyes to focus on what looks to be a drawing of a goat, which just so happens to be located on her back pocket, then Birdie whips around and holds Shell's drink out to her.  
  
It takes everything in Shell to not let out a yelp and assure her that "I definitely wasn't checking out your butt, I swear!" But it's a near thing.  
  
"Order up! For Shell, was it?"

"Yes, that's me. I'm Shell." _No shit, she just said that._ Shell grabs her drink and wants to pour it on herself out of mortification.

Birdie giggles. "That's a cute name, I like it." Shell gulps. "See ya around, Shell!"

"See ya," she manages to get out, then turns and walks as quickly out of the shop as she can without running.

Shell is so flustered from the encounter, and then occupied with her classes at school, that it's not until she's walking up to a trashcan on campus about to throw away her cup when she realizes there's a drawing next to her name. It's a turtle wearing a pirate hat and written next to it in curly handwriting are the words _"For Shell"._

She drops the cup in the bin like she's been burned.

***

The next morning Shell contemplates skipping her regular indulgence of Milly's Coffee, purely for monetary reasons. The shop is on her route to school and though she initially walked past, the enticing smell of caramel and coffee beans makes her pivot on her feet and begrudgingly walk in.

Birdie is behind the counter again, like she always seems to be, and as the bell signals Shell's arrival she looks up from the customer she's checking out at the register and _smiles_ at her. Shell's grip on her backpack tightens and she smiles back, but knowing her it probably came out more like a grimace.

Shell doesn't stare—she's not _rude_ —but she finds herself watching Birdie as she takes the orders from the customers in front of her. She seems like a naturally friendly, outgoing person, full of smiles and small talk with each person. There's an ease with which she interacts with strangers that Shell has never quite felt herself, and she admires the woman for it. 

So Shell tells herself that Birdie's smile isn't any larger, and her eyes definitely don't light up and linger when Shell steps up to order. Birdie is just amicable like that with everyone.

"It's good to see ya again, Shell!" She greets her. "I was hoping you'd come in."

"Haha, well... you know," Shell shrugs. What it is, exactly, that Birdie should know, Shell has no idea. Gods, she can solve differential calculus equations in seconds but managing to form a coherent sentence with this barista is apparently rocket science. (Which Shell is also studying and is quite good at.)

Birdie, however, doesn't seem confused by this, and continues smiling as usual. "I'll get your order right up!"

This time when she hands over the drink, Shell looks for a drawing right away. Sure enough, drawn in black sharpie is what looks like some kind of devil or demon like creature—with fangs, horns, and a pointy tail. Shell's expression must betray her confusion, because Birdie speaks up. "It's a tiefling! You know, like the race from Dungeons and Dragons. I thought it suited you."

Shell feels her heart beat a little faster and warms at the apparent compliment. "Oh, thank you. I love it, it-it's cute."

"I'm glad! See ya next time, Shellie."

Shell's head shoots up and her eyes are blown wide at the nickname. Birdie merely winks at her, and then is busy greeting the next customer in line. Shell makes her way to class in a daze and barely remembers anything from her lectures.

_No one has ever called me Shellie before._ She can't say she dislikes it.

***

It becomes a routine, normal enough that Shell no longer feels like a fumbling fool every time Birdie takes her order. The woman is blessedly easy to talk to, and her smiles have a way of easing even the most nervous and surly of people into a pleasant conversation, however short lived. If she speaks longer with Shell, or compliments her hair or nail polish, it's just part of Birdie's customer service routine, she tells herself. It is her job after all, and she's reliant on tips, if the jar in front of the register is any indication.

Still, Shell finds herself looking forward to these few minutes of interaction with Birdie each day, and replays them over and over in her heard for hours afterwards. Each time Birdie draws a different picture on her cup, and Shell starts saving the sleeves in order to keep them. She lines them up on her dresser, one of the only decorations she has in her small flat, if they could even be called that. It would be a waste, she thinks. Birdie is talented at drawing. No two are the same. Some depict flowers, or dancing goats, or various characters from shows on TV and in movies. Even the messages she writes on them are different.

_For Miss Shellie.  
_

_Property of Shell.  
_

_Do not drink if your name is not Shell.  
_

_Just for Shellie._

It's cute. Each time it brings a smile to Shell's face. _Don't read into it,_ she reminds herself when she realizes she's tracing Birdie's handwriting with her finger and snatches her hand back. _She's just doing her job._

She ignores the disappointment and sadness the thought leaves in its wake.

***

This morning when Shell walks into Milly's Coffee like she always does, she doesn't look up and share a smile and wave with Birdie. She slept in late, somehow having forgotten to set her alarm after a late night of studying for her exam today, and left her flat in a rush after throwing on whatever clothes were lying on her floor and stuffing books in her bag. She was so short on time that she nearly skipped her coffee run, but her heavy eyelids and groggy brain told her she _needs_ her caffeine today if she's going to have any chance at passing this test.

She's still half asleep and frantically reviewing her notes for the thousandth time, and therefore doesn't notice the line moving. It's not until a hand gently grasps her own clenched at the edge of her notebook that she looks up and she's the concerned face of Birdie the barista, _in front_ of the counter for once.

"Shell? Y'alright?" She's close enough that Shell can see faint glitter of Birdie's highlighter dusted on her cheeks and smell something like honey and lemon wafting off her. Her hand on hers is warm, presumably from all the warm drinks she handles, but it's soft, too.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention, I have an exam later and I'm already running late so I was trying to cram a bit more before and—"

"Shell," Birdie interrupts her rush of words. Her hands squeezes Shell's in reassurance. "It's okay, I get it. Here's your drink, I had it ready to go for you. It's on the house."

Shell stares down at the drink like she's never seen coffee before. "I can't take that, no way. Please let me pay."

"I insist." Birdie gently pries Shell's hand off her notebook and puts the drink into her palm. "If you really wanna pay me back, give me a call, why don't ya?"

"What?" Shell's brows furrow.

"You'll see." Birdie winks at her. "Now get going or you'll miss your test! Go ace it."

Shell allows herself to be shooed out of the shop and doesn't have time to get flustered over the sensation of Birdie's hands on her arms or the way she stays on the sidewalk waving goodbye until Shell turns the corner and is out of sight.

"Call her later? Does she mean at the store?" Shell wonders, lifting the drink up to her lips for a sip. Purely out of habit she looks down at the sleeve to see what drawing Birdie left this time, but there is none.

Instead, there is a series of numbers and the note, _Wanna go on a date?_ ♡

Shell passes her exam with flying colors.


End file.
